


Badfish

by writingandchocolatemilk



Series: SpUk Oneshots [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingandchocolatemilk/pseuds/writingandchocolatemilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are we?" England asked again, voice harsh.</p><p>"Do you want to?" Spain asked.</p><p>"You ask that like it's easy," England muttered. "It's not. We can't just—just <em>do</em> this again." England clenched his jaw. "It doesn't work like that."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Badfish

Lord knows I'm weak;

won't somebody get me off of this reef?

* * *

Romano was smoking. Spain didn't usually like cigarettes, but he liked Romano's cigarettes. They smelled like sweet things, with something underneath that made Spain's nose twitch.

"Are you fucking him again?" Romano asked, voice rising at the end, so he took another drag of his cigarette.

Spain took a bite of his salad. "Hm?"

"Are you fucking him again?" Romano couldn't look him in the eye. "You know who I'm fucking talking about, so don't act dumb. God, I hate it when you do that."

Spain shrugged. "I don't think it's any of your business, Italy."

Romano's face began to twist, but again, that cigarette to his mouth. "Fine."

Huh.

Spain took another bite of salad.

* * *

"So, what, we're doing this again?"

England was sitting in a chair by the window. The direct light made him look pale and thin and translucent. England smoked, too. But he smoked cheap things that made him cough, made people make faces at him.

They weren't in a smoking room, but the window was open. Spain watched him smoke, craning his neck. England had put his boxers back on.

"Are we?" England asked again, voice harsh.

"Do you want to?" Spain asked.

"You ask that like it's easy," England muttered. "It's not. We can't just—just  _do_  this again." England clenched his jaw. "It doesn't work like that."

"Why not?" Spain sat up. "Come back to bed." He held out his hands. "You will catch a cold by that window, isn't that you always say?"

England watched him. "I can still fuck if I'm sick."

Spain shrugged. "Get sick then, if you want."

"So, you only want to fuck me?" England flicked his cigarette out the window.

His breath would smell like cheap cigarettes now. And his clothes. Spain sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, watching England watch him.

"Come to bed. You are thinking too much."

Slowly, reluctantly, England did.

* * *

"I hate when you fuck him," Romano said this time.

Spain cradled the phone in his ear as he cooked. He spoke in the broken Italian Romano had taught him, chopped the way Romano had showed him. The kitchen was small and cramped, and the phone cord kept catching on everything.

"Do you?"

"I really, really fucking do."

England was watching cricket or rugby in the other room.

The peppers burned slightly.

"I still don't think it's any of your business."

"Fuck you."

* * *

England's jaw was grinding. Spain heard it next to his ear, could feel how tight and tense England was. It was like steel cords wrapped in skin, constantly grating. Spain wanted to roll away, but something in him wouldn't allow it.

England pressed his cold nose into Spain's neck. "Do you think I'm a bad person?"

One of those nights, then.

"Why did you sigh?" England asked sharply.

Spain shook his head, slightly. "I think you are as bad as the next nation. We all do bad things. We all do good things. I—"

"Not like that. Do you—do you think  _I_  am a bad person? Me, not…" England groaned. "Never mind. I shouldn't have asked. I don't know why I even opened my mouth."

Spain blinked up at the water-stained ceiling. He wished they were in his bed. "We are our people."

"Oh, hell, thanks for the newsflash, Spain. I wasn't aware."

Spain rolled over.

* * *

"Jesus," Romano snapped, grabbing Spain's arm. "Watch where you're going, ass! You almost—"

Spain ripped his arm away. "Can you get off my back, Italy? I'm trying to drive."

Spain felt Romano looking at him. Traffic seemed to move slower, slower, and Romano was still  _looking_ at him.

"Sorry," Romano muttered.

* * *

Spain let himself be pushed against the wall, let England's hand move over him, undo his belt. Let England bite at his neck. There were worse things after a World Meeting than a quickie. Especially if it was England initiating.

"God, all I could think about was you," England mumbled into Spain's skin. "Fucking Estonia wouldn't shut up."

"And here I am," Spain said.

England let out a little laugh. "Yes, here you are. Very astute, you bastard."

Spain grinned, ran his hands up England's shirt. "You look better with no clothes. That's what I was thinking. And you do."

"Please."

Spain pulled away slightly. "You are attractive."

England's face was set at a strange angle. "I don't want to talk about me. That's not what I want to be thinking about. I want to be thinking about fucking you, or blowing you, or you blowing me—"

"Arthur—"

England caught Spain's hand. "I don't need to be lied to," England hissed.

"I'm not lying. Why would—"

"I don't know," England's jaw was clenching. "Because you think it turns me on or some stupid bloody bullshit. I just want to get laid, and so do you, that's all this is. Let's not flatter ourselves and say this is—"

"Stop it," Spain said loudly.

England glared at him through his bangs. "Am I making you feel bad?"

"What are—"

"Do I make you feel bad for fucking me because no one else does?" England was pulling away.

"Stop it," Spain said again. "Come here."

"You've always had a soft spot for lonely, angry things, haven't you?" England spat.

Spain gripped England's shoulders. "Stop."

"You're hurting me," England snarled.

"Stop what you're saying."

England pushed Spain away. He started to unbutton his own shirt. "I want to have sex."

There were bruises on his shoulders.

"Okay," Spain said.

* * *

The salad had too much dressing this time.

Romano was smoking the same cigarettes, but Spain was tired of cigarettes. He winced whenever the wind blew the smoke too close. All Romano had ordered was a drink. Spain watched the ice cubes.

"What do you even see in him?"

Spain looked out the window. It was so pretty here. "He's not so bad."

"He literally makes you fucking miserable."

"Italy—"

"I'm serious," Romano said, louder. "You don't think everyone fucking notices? You two—"

" _I don't want to talk about it_."

Romano took a drink. "Does he really make you happy? Or—"

"Romano—"

"Or do you think you can make  _him_  happy? Because he—"

Spain stood up. "I'm not talking to you about this."

"Fucking  _why_?!" Romano stood up. " _Why_ , Spain? Why does it  _bother_  you so much? Did you ever think that you should be able to talk to me about this?"

"I don't want to talk."

Romano's anger flared, then drained away. "Okay." He sat down. "Okay. Okay, tell me about your day."

* * *

Bottles were scattered around the apartment. It was a rare, sunny day, and the light caught the bottles and made them almost look pretty.

And England there, looking tired and pale and sprawled in an armchair. He looked so, so sad.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I do love you."

Spain sighed and sat down on the ottoman. "I know."

* * *

I swim but I wish I never learned;

the water's too polluted with germs.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Anonymous said :** Can you write a Engspa fic, please? :D (but is always Spain x England, it can be England x Spain this time? I want bottom!Spain XD)


End file.
